


Fallout

by meetmeatthecoda



Series: Finale Fixes [3]
Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I'm all about that Angst, Lizzington - Freeform, and alcohol abuse, and not-being-able-to-function-without-the-other is a fav trope of mine, i mean it's pretty mild but i don't want to accidentally trigger anyone, mentions of depression, so i decided to lizzington-ify it, so tagging for safety, sorry - Freeform, the angst is real people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25856653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meetmeatthecoda/pseuds/meetmeatthecoda
Summary: Bright red ink blurs and bleeds together as Liz’s tears fall one by one onto the note clutched tightly in her numb fingers.He’s gone.An AU fic set after Katarina is finally out of the picture and Red, discovering Liz's disloyalty, decides to leave. Heavy angst, but with a happy ending. T-rating for mentions of depression and alcohol abuse. Lizzington. One-shot. Part 3 of Finale Fixes.
Relationships: Elizabeth Keen/Raymond Reddington
Series: Finale Fixes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862632
Comments: 10
Kudos: 84





	Fallout

_Elizabeth,_

_Now that Katarina is no longer a threat, I think it is time we face the facts. You’ve been going behind my back these past few months to help her. You’ve been lying to me, Elizabeth, and I’m afraid this is the last time you’ve betrayed me. You’ve proven time and time again that I can’t trust you. Therefore, I’ve decided to go away. I’ll contact Aram with names from the blacklist, so that you may continue our work in my stead, but this is the last you’ll hear from me. It causes me great pain to think of never seeing you again, but I think it’s for the best. I wish you joy always, Elizabeth, and please tell Agnes I love her._

_Goodbye, Elizabeth._

_R_

Bright red ink blurs and bleeds together as Liz’s tears fall one by one onto the note clutched tightly in her numb fingers.

He’s gone.

Red’s gone and it’s all her fault. It’s her fault that she sided with her mother in search of their precious answers, her back-stabbing mother who was all smoke and mirrors and leading her on, just trying to save her own neck, dangling answers that Liz didn’t even end up getting, and now Red has _given up on her –_

“Mommy?”

Liz looks up from where she’s frozen on her living room couch, hastily wiping her eyes to see Agnes standing in front of her, pajama-clad with her stuffed fish under her arm, ready for bed and looking at her.

“Mommy, why awe you cwying?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, baby, I’m just sad,” Liz hurries to reassure her, stuffing the note in her pocket and reaching for her. “Come here.”

Agnes hurries forward and clambers up into her lap, getting comfortable with her fish squished between them and her head under Liz’s chin, as Liz wraps her arms tightly around her. She feels slightly better with her little girl in her arms, but Red’s words keep flashing before her eyes in accusatory red ink because _she’s finally driven him away –_

“Why awe you sad, Mommy?” Agnes asks from her arms.

Tears clog Liz’s throat at the question, and she has to take a moment before answering.

“Do you remember our friend Red, Agnes?”

“Yes!” Agnes chirps immediately. “Is Wed coming to visit soon, Mommy?”

A few tears escape Liz’s eyes, rolling down her face and wetting Agnes’s hair.

“I don’t think so, baby,” she whispers. “But you know he loves you right?”

“Yes,” Agnes yawns, and Liz can feel her getting drowsy in her arms. “He bwoght me a colowing book…”

“Yes, he did,” Liz whispers, tears falling in earnest once again as Agnes drifts off. “He loves you…”

(Because Agnes is the only part of her left that’s worth loving.)

Liz clutches Agnes closer to her, feeling completely and utterly alone, because…

_She’s never going to see him again._

* * *

_Three months later_

* * *

Aram jumps at the sound of a brisk knock on his door. He spins around, taking a moment to inspect the Olympic-size blanket fort taking up the majority of his living room. He gives it a final once-over and, pleased with the impressive display, he hurries to pull open the front door.

His goddaughter is here for a sleepover.

“Uncle Awam!”

Agnes bursts inside, her plastic princess backpack stuffed full of toys, stopping only to quickly wrap her arms around his waist in a fleeting hug before making a beeline for the blanket fort, squealing in excitement.

Aram beams. She likes it.

“Uncle Awam, Mommy packed me Fwozen!”

“That’s awesome, Aggie!” he cries. “Do we want popcorn?”

Agnes crows her assent, already busy unpacking her Anna and Elsa dolls from her backpack, and Aram grins. It’s only the third time they’ve watched it together. Besides, he doesn’t mind.

“Thanks, again, Aram.”

At the sound of her voice, Aram turns back toward the open door where Liz is still hovering in the doorway.

“No problem, Liz,” he says brightly. “You know how much I love our sleepover weekends.”

Liz nods silently, peering self-consciously down at her feet for a moment, and Aram takes the opportunity to look a little more closely at her, frowning at what he sees.

His friend looks thin, thinner than the last time he saw her at the post office a few weeks ago. She has dark circles under her eyes, like she hasn’t been sleeping, and her hair looks thin and lifeless. Her clothes are wrinkled and hanging off her frame.

But most of all, she looks…sad.

“Hey…you okay, Liz?” he asks quietly, concerned.

Liz picks her head up quickly, looking startled at the question, and avoids his eyes.

“Hm? Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” she mutters carelessly. “Uh, I’ll pick her up on Sunday, is that okay?”

“Sure, sounds go—” he starts to agree, but she’s already gone, heading back to her car.

Aram frowns and shuts the door, standing there for a moment and worrying for his friend.

“Come on, Uncle Awam, Ewsa is about to sing!” cries Agnes, her little voice muffled from inside the fort.

“Okay, I’m coming, kiddo, don’t let her start without me!”

Aram smiles again at the sound of Agnes’s little giggles floating out from under the blankets. He doesn’t mind, not at all, he adores his goddaughter. He’s just a little worried about Liz because…

Well, this is their third sleepover this month.

* * *

The wordless chatter of the Milan nightlife floats upward on the warm evening air to reach Red’s ears where he sits on the high balcony of his safe house, nursing his fifth scotch and second cigar of the night.

He’s not doing well.

It’s been three long months since he left Lizzie and he’s hated every single day. He’s barely been eating and sleeping even less, surviving primarily on alcohol, cigars, and heartache.

Red rubs a hand along his scruffy jaw, three months of growth snagging at his fingers. He’s been too depressed to shave, only occasionally managing a shower.

He sighs heavily.

Red knows he did the right thing. He can’t afford to be close to someone he can’t trust. But that doesn’t help with the bitter regret that’s taken up residence in his body.

He misses seeing her every day, her bright blue eyes piercing into him, seeing right through all his posturing, her dark hair framing her pale face, her soft-looking lips stretched into an infectious smile –

The ringing of his burner phone jolts him out of his depressed daydreams. He squints at the tiny screen in annoyance, wondering who has the audacity to bother him –

It’s Aram’s number.

(Oh no.)

Red almost drops the burner phone off the balcony and into the street below in his haste to answer.

“Hello?” he snaps, once he finally manages to accept the damn call.

“M—Mr. Reddington?” Aram’s timid voice.

“Yes, Aram, it’s me, what’s happened?”

“Well, nothing’s _happened_ exactly, um, I’m not even sure I should be calling, because you said only emergencies, so I’m sorry if this is wrong, but I just –”

“Well, you’re calling now, Aram,” Red interrupts smoothly, feeling a little calmer at the obvious lack of urgency in his voice. “So, how about you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Um, right, okay, well…” Aram continues to stutter. “Well…it’s Liz.”

Red’s heart sinks through the floor.

“Is she hurt?” he asks, monotone and terrified.

“No!” Aram hastens to reassure him. “Well, not exactly…”

“Aram,” Red says warningly, worried and quickly losing patience.

“It’s just that she’s…not doing well,” Aram says uncertainly.

Red frowns.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, ever since you left, she’s been getting worse. She’s not taking care of herself and she seems so…sad. I’m worried about her.”

Red stands from his balcony chair, anxiety coursing through him, abandoning his scotch and cigar and starting to pace.

“What about Agnes?”

“Oh, Agnes is fine!” Aram says quickly. “She’s great! Happy, healthy, adorably princess-obsessed! She’s…been here a lot.”

“Agnes has been with you?” Red repeats, confused.

“Well, not all the time,” Aram amends. “Liz has been dropping her off on the weekends for princess sleepovers, _which I love_ ,” – Aram hurries to assure him, and Red can hear the sincerity in the younger man’s voice – “and at first it was just so she could get her bearings a little, you know, after you left –”

Red cringes on the other end of the phone.

“– but she’s been leaving Agnes with me and not coming into work much and she just isn’t doing well but she won’t talk to me and I don’t know what else to do,” Aram finishes lamely.

Red leaves silence on the line for a long moment, thinking hard.

“Mr. Reddington,” Aram starts quietly. “I don't know what happened between you two – Liz won’t talk about it – but…”

Red squeezes his eyes shut as he waits for Aram’s next words.

“…but I think Liz misses you,” he finishes, soft and meaningful.

Red’s throat clenches.

(Because _he misses her too_.)

With no visible cue, he stands up straight.

“Thank you, Aram,” he states, his voice suddenly strong and final.

“You’re welcome, uh, wait, that’s it?” Aram asks, taken aback by Red’s abrupt dismissal. “What are you going to do?”

Red looks out over the dark city, illuminated by the flashing lights of street vendors and clubs, countless people milling below.

“I’m going to pay Elizabeth a visit.”

“Oh, okay. Well, that’s good.”

“Thank you, Aram,” Red says sincerely, grateful for Aram’s sense of duty and friendship to Lizzie. “Can you call me again when you have Agnes for the weekend? I think Elizabeth and I may need some privacy to…talk things through.”

“Sure,” Aram says, sounding relieved. “I should have her again next weekend. Does that give you enough time to get here?”

“Oh, yes,” Red assures him, choosing not to tell him that he’ll be on a place within the hour. “I’ll talk to you soon Aram.”

Aram stutters a goodbye and Red hangs up, feeling a glorious sense of purpose he hasn’t felt in months. He’ll visit Lizzie, see her for himself, check that she’s all right, affirm that she’s going to move on with her life, focus on Agnes and take care of herself. He owes her that much after leaving the way he did.

(And the fact that he gets to see her one more time has his heart racing in his chest.)

And after he’s sure she’s going to be all right, he’ll leave, disappear and never bother her again, face the aching loneliness and heartbreak once more, even as the thought of returning to the darkness of the last three months makes him grit his teeth to stifle the pain. He forcefully shoves the feeling side.

Because before any of that, he gets to see Lizzie.

But first?

He needs a shave.

* * *

The elevator doors slide open onto Lizzie’s floor and the cheerful ding only serves to make Red more sick to his stomach.

His heart is lodged firmly in his throat.

Aram called an hour ago to tell him Lizzie had just dropped off Agnes, so Red thanked him and gave her a half hour to get herself home. And then took another half hour to try and calm himself down in the car before he finally forced himself into the building and onto the elevator.

(It’s been three long, _long_ months and who knows what she will say when she sees him.)

Red walks up to her door now, equal parts desperate and scared to see her, hoping against hope that Aram is wrong about everything and she’s been fairing just fine.

(But the perverse part of himself that he absolutely loathes hopes that Aram is _right_ , and Lizzie has been missing him _at least half as much_ as he’s been missing _her_ –)

Red knocks on her door before he can stop himself.

He waits a long moment, holding his breath anxiously.

And he waits some more.

But there’s no answer.

Red frowns. He knows she’s home, Aram confirmed she would be heading straight back to her apartment, and that was an hour ago, so why isn’t she answering?

(The back of his neck starts to tingle.)

He knocks again, a little louder this time, starting to get worried.

“Elizabeth?” he chances, throat dry and heart pounding away.

There’s no response.

(And he’s now easily imagining all the worst-case scenarios, because _he certainly has precedent_ –)

He can’t hear anything from inside.

He’s not waiting any longer.

That’s it.

Red wastes no more time as he bends down and fiddles with the lock on Lizzie’s door, picking it in next to no time at all, standing up straight as it swings open. He steps inside, heading instinctively for the living room.

“Elizabeth?” he calls, choked and afraid, an awful feeling sweeping over him as he rounds the corner into the living room, peering around to see – 

“Eliza—”

There she is, lying on her back on the living room floor, her limbs sprawled at odd angles, her hair falling into her face, an empty bottle of whiskey within reach and –

She’s unconscious.

_“Lizzie!”_

Red stumbles forward, falling to his knees at her side, tugging her prone body into his lap, feeling immediately for a pulse at her neck, deathly afraid that there won’t be a –

But Red lets out a trembling breath because yes, she has a pulse – sluggish but there – and he almost passes out along with her from the sheer relief that she’s not de—

Lizzie’s eyes flutter.

“Lizzie?” Red gasps, pressing a hand to her cheek. Her skin is pale and clammy. “Lizzie, can you hear me?”

She makes an odd noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh.

“Lizzie, sweetheart, can you talk to me?” Red asks urgently, gently brushing her lanky, dirty hair out of her face.

“Mmm,” Lizzie mumbles. “Red…”

“That’s right, Lizzie,” Red says, his heart thrilling as she recognizes him.

(And hearing her voice again, as weak as it is, makes him so happy he can barely breathe because oh, _he missed her.)_

“Red,” she murmurs. “You said…you said you weren’t coming back…”

Red’s smile falters.

“I know, Lizzie,” he says quickly. “But I was worried about you, so I came back to check on you, and I’m so glad I did because –”

But she’s speaking again, so weak and soft, that he has to immediately stop to hear her.

“Red,” she breathes. “You…you lied.”

His heart freezes in his chest at her soft accusation, realizing in that moment that no, she _hasn’t_ missed him, she _doesn’t_ want him back, she’s _mad at him –_

“You lied,” she repeats weakly. “You said you weren’t coming back but…I see you all the time.”

Red frowns, leaning closer because her words don’t make sense. He _did_ leave and she _hasn’t_ seen him, not for three awful months, so what is she talking about?

“Lizzie?” he asks, confused. “You see me all the time?”

“Mhm,” she hums, her eyes starting to slip closed again, the rest of her sentence so quiet that Red has to lean forward, his ear nearly touching her mouth, for him to make it out.

“I see you all the time,” she whispers, pain bleeding out of her voice. “Every time I close my eyes…”

* * *

When Liz wakes, it’s slowly and with great difficulty, her eyes aching intensely as she struggles to keep them open. Her head begins pounding seconds later and she instinctively raises a hand to groggily press against her forehead. She vaguely remembers dreaming of Red again last night, something about whiskey and the floor, what an odd dream –

And she snaps into awareness at the very second she hears his voice come from the armchair by the window of her room.

“There are pills on your nightstand.”

It wasn’t a dream.

(And in the past three months, she’s missed that voice more than she could possibly say.)

Liz scrubs a weak hand over her face and slowly sits up, scooting to press her back to the headboard and wrap her arms around her knees. She gradually opens her sore eyes, stalling, trying to give herself all the time she can before she’s faced with the treasured sight of him.

(It’s been _three whole months_ and she’s not ready.)

When she finally looks, he’s sitting just as she expects him to be, legs crossed and hands clasped on his lap, staring at her with a deeply troubled expression.

“Hello, Elizabeth,” he murmurs, gentle and quiet, perhaps still worried about startling her. “How are you feeling?”

Liz considers his question through the slight fog in her brain. Aside from her pounding eyes and head, Liz feels sore just about everywhere else, desperately thirsty, and suspiciously clean.

Frowning, she raises a hand to touch her hair self-consciously, finding it clean and soft.

“I had a trusted female nurse come to check you over. She took the liberty of cleaning you up.”

Liz blushes, feeling ashamed that he found her like that, at how much she let herself go.

(But, in a disgustingly perverse way, there’s a small part of her that’s glad he saw her at her worst. Perhaps now he has an idea of how much his leaving truly broke her.)

“Elizabeth,” he says suddenly, regaining her attention just by how quietly distressed he now sounds. “Elizabeth, _what happened?_ ”

Liz blinks at him.

“What happened?” she repeats dumbly. “You left, Red, _that’s_ what happened. You disappeared without a trace and, somehow, I wasn’t expecting it.”

Red works his mouth.

“But it’s nothing less than I deserve,” she mutters, mostly to herself, uncomfortable with how she can feel Red staring at her, pity no doubt written all over his face.

A thought occurs to her muddled mind.

“Red, why _did_ you come back?”

There’s a long pause before he answers.

“Aram,” he finally rumbles, and Liz sighs.

Of course.

“He was worried about you,” Red finishes.

“I just…had trouble accepting it,” Liz mumbles, still refusing to look at him. “It was all I could do just to get up every day and take care of Agnes. Aram’s been…a huge help.”

Red is silent for a moment in the chair.

“Have you been drinking a lot?”

Liz clenches her jaw, reluctant to admit to him the depth of her depression and the mediocre solace she’s been finding in the bottle, even with the way he found her.

“I don’t –”

“Me too.”

Liz looks at him sharply.

“I’ve been drinking far too much scotch. Smoking too,” he admits, and Liz can only stare at him.

In fact, now that she really looks at him, she can see how much weight he’s lost, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his suit doesn’t quite fit.

He’s been struggling too.

(And that ugly part of her that desperately wants someone to suffer with cries out in relief because _she’s not as alone as she thought_ –)

But she mercilessly smothers the joy threatening to flourish inside her because the reality is that this changes nothing.

“Well,” she mutters, tearing her desperate gaze away from him, trying in vain to be strong. “When you leave again, we’ll both try to do better, won’t we?”

Liz stares fixedly at her bedsheets, rubbing them between her fingers in lieu of her scar and awaiting the devastating blow of his agreement, the affirmation that he’ll soon be on his way, leaving her once again in the darkness –

“No.”

Liz jerks her head up again.

“What?”

Red just smiles sadly at her.

“I won’t be leaving again, Elizabeth,” he admits quietly. “I think the only thing we’ve proven over the last three months is that we can’t operate without each other.”

Liz gapes at him, completely in shock, because _that’s_ _exactly how she feels_ –

“But what about Katarina and my betrayal and –”

“Lizzie,” Red interrupts, and the return of her long-lost nickname almost makes her cry with relief. “I clearly did not anticipate the fallout that would occur from leaving you. I found you passed out from mild alcohol poisoning, and the only reason you didn’t find me the same way is because Aram called me, and not the other way around.”

(And Liz feels tears well up in her eyes at the thought of Red drinking himself into oblivion over _her_.)

“I think we’re finally past the point of abusing trust,” he murmurs softly. “Don’t you agree?”

And Liz can only nod weakly, her utter relief almost palpable in the air, because _he’s not leaving her again._

“Besides, I can’t leave,” he adds in a different tone and a small smile. “Agnes invited me to a princess sleepover next weekend.”

(Oh, Agnes. She never gave up on them.)

And when Red rises from the armchair, moving over to the bed to perch on the edge and wrap his arms arm her in a hug that she’s been wanting for three months, she can’t hold back a sob of relief.

“I’m sorry, Red, I’m so sorry,” she blubbers into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me.”

He just rubs her back and shushes her gently, murmuring his own apology into the warm skin of her neck.

“And I’m sorry for leaving, Lizzie.”

(And their shattered souls are finally on their way back to each other.)

They hold each other until their arms get tired, at which point Red pulls back and considers her.

“Are you still tired? Aram’s happy to keep Agnes until you’re ready.”

At the suggestion of sleep, Liz feels instantly exhausted, the outpouring of emotion draining her already frail body.

“Yeah, I could use another nap,” she admits regretfully, before cautiously reaching up with one hand to gently stroke under his eye. “You look exhausted too.”

Red shrugs carelessly.

“Oh, I’ll be fine,” he says. “You have another nap and I’ll go –”

“No!” Liz blurts, grabbing his hand as he tries to stand from the bed. “No, don’t go!”

Red blinks in surprise.

“I was just going to let you get some rest, Lizzie.”

“Don’t be silly,” she says. “You’re tired too. Why don’t you join me, and we’ll rest together?”

Red’s eyes grow large and, for a moment, he resembles a deer in headlights.

(And the idea that, after everything, he doesn’t think he’s earned the right to sleep next to her makes Liz want to start crying again.)

“Come on, Red,” Liz urges, soft but insistent. “Lay down with me.”

And Liz can only breath easily again when he toes off his shoes and climbs into bed beside her, laying on top of the covers facing her.

“Go to sleep, Red,” she whispers, watching his eyelids start to droop the second his head hits the pillow. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And when Liz closes her own eyes, long after Red has descended into a peaceful sleep, it’s with the comforting knowledge that when she opens them again…

He’ll be the first thing she sees.


End file.
